


high summer

by redlightwarning



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:53:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightwarning/pseuds/redlightwarning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toby is bored and Happy is distracting and pretty. Things take a pleasant turn.</p><p>(Fondly referred to as 'The Nipple Fic' but this story features a depressing lack of nipples. I regret that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	high summer

He doesn't mean to notice, is the thing. It happens completely by accident, in a way that is probably actually entirely his fault, to be honest, but he never _intended_ to notice. It was just one of those things that once you noticed, you couldn't _stop_ noticing, like a hairy mole or food caught in someone’s teeth or, well, like _happy not wearing a bra_. Whatever, he didn't mean to notice.

And it’s not like he couldn't, theoretically, understand why she’d forgo a bra, what with the extending heatwave and temperatures creeping closer and closer to triple figures as the weekend approaches. Toby could weep for those poor, poor souls in the valley right now, if he wasn't, you know, being slowly cooked in his own flesh.

He’s at his desk, shirt removed, lounging in a tee and jeans he’s pulled halfway up his calf. He’s sort of contemplating just taking off his jeans altogether. He’s sure Walter wouldn't notice and Sylvester has already moved his chair to sit directly in front of the open fridge, but Paige is a _normal_ and has all sorts of ideas about _etiquette_ and _respectability_ and _potential clients_ and it’s all really rather tiring.

He turns back to his file, fluttering in the breeze of three separate fans and the a/c on high, and draws noughts and crosses grids and chess games with himself, analyzes the meanings behind his own moves as two separate players until his own mind is spinning in circles, trying to keep his own behaviour straight. He’s restless and too hot and incredibly bored.

He turns to happy, finds her sitting on the floor, legs sprawling straight out from her like a parody of a teddy bear roll, wires and screwdrivers and pliers and batteries scattered across the space allowed between her limbs. She’s kind of perpetually beautiful and it’s maddening. She’s wearing a loose pair of khaki shorts and a plain black vest top and her hair is actually up, held away from her face by a high ponytail that really shouldn't make him as curious as it does, but it does anyway, incite curiosity that is. She’s frowning at her work, biting the inside of her cheek and Toby has been watching her work for a while now, likes to think he’s picked up a few things at least, but he has absolutely no idea what she’s doing. Her hands are too quick and deft, pulling and folding and crossing the wires without hesitation and it’s kind of distracting. 

She has tiny hands, in comparison to him at least, and fists that don’t look like they could actually do serious damage to his face and he sometimes gets stuck on her wrists, all soft skin and delicate bird bones. He kind of wants to peel her bracelets back and suck a bruise into her pulse point, a matching one just behind her ear, if she’ll let him. She’s intoxicating and he wants to breathe her all in, nose at the sharp contours of her collarbones, against the hollow of her throat, trail his tongue down through the sheen of perspiration on her chest and- _oh_.

Okay, it’s definitely his fault because he was checking her out, but he probably can’t be blamed for the way his brain short circuits at the sight and has him flailing in his chair. Paige glances up, but she’s the only one to do so, looking concerned for a moment before Toby smiles back and she’s reassured, turns back to her paperwork.

He turns his gaze back to Happy for a second and struggles to keep his gaze above her shoulders, but she’s leaning so far forward that all he can see is skin, and he rips his gaze away when she sits back up and he realizes he’s been staring.

The entire situation is just _a lot_ , the image burned into his memory forever but already feeling vague with the passage of time. He carries on watching her for a few moments, infinitely glad that she doesn't lean forward again, but cursing himself all the same when he catches the shape of her nipples pressed against the dark fabric of her shirt and a _vision from God_ leaves his mouth dry and his jeans uncomfortably tight. 

He’s going to go straight to hell.

Toby shifts in his chair and takes out his phone. He messes with a few of his apps, completes the next level of candy crush before he opens his messages and begins typing.

**To: Happy  
13:45pm**

_i just saw straight down your vest x_

There’s a delay of a few seconds before the near silence of the garage is interrupted by the buzzing of an incoming message. Happy leans to the side to grab her phone and Toby watches her carefully for her reaction. She’s surprised at first, glances down at her chest before looking back at her screen. She’s frowning, fingers hovering above the keys but she doesn't type anything and definitely doesn't look at Toby. He frowns, goes back to his own phone.

**To: Happy  
13:46**

_thought you should knw so you could exact ur revenge asap x_

And that seems to catch her attention. She looks at him, her stare boring twin holes into his face and it makes his stomach swoop for a second, that she looks straight up and immediately catches his gaze, that maybe she’s as aware of him as he is of her. She watches him for a few minutes and he watches her too, leans forward over his desk as if he could somehow reach out and touch her if he just tried hard enough. She tears her gaze away from him and glances down at her phone, typing slowly and carefully, hesitating before she presses send.

**To: Toby  
13:48**

_are you trying to flirt with me_

Toby reads the text with a smile, glances up at her for a second before he turns back to his screen. She’s testing him, he knows but he can’t tell what answer she’s looking for.

**To: Happy  
13:49**

_depends if its wrking  
but i thougt u deserved 2 kno anyway x_

Toby watches her expression carefully, feeling nervous and strung out, sure he’s probably crossed a line and that she’s going to pull away completely and leave him grappling for the echoes of her she’s left dancing through his life, all slow smiles and touches. His phone vibrates in his grip and his heart pounds a little in his chest.

**To: Toby  
13:49**

_it could work maybe_  
no promises though  
x 

 

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry and tight and he feels almost inexplicably fond at her uncertainty. He looks at her, cautious brown eyes and the grin that quirks the corner of her lip, spreading for just a moment before she’s physically biting it down and it leaves something soft catching at the base of his spine and melting through the tension in his shoulders. He watches her watch him and feels, perhaps for the first time, that maybe they could really be something and the thought is as exhilarating as it is terrifying.

He runs a hand through his hair, damp with sweat and pushes his chair back, invites her over to his desk with a tilt of his head and it takes a second, one heart-stopping paralysing second of her indecision, but she stands her joints cracking as she does, creeps her way towards him with a lack of confidence that belies her personality and he does what he can to make her feel more at ease. He shuffles through the loose paper on his desk and knows that she can see his grin, that if anyone cared to look, they’d all be able to see.

“Your spelling is terrible.”

He jumps at her voice, the garage too quiet for too long and he can’t look away from her mouth, her eyes, the subtle flush of her cheeks.

“You can’t perform open heart surgery,” he points out, and he can’t even help the way he puffs out his chest a little, trying to impress her.

She huffs a laugh at him. 

“Neither could you,” she says and he could protest that, but she turns away from him, stepping into the v of his legs as she glances at the paper and books on his desk and he would have suspected the move was inadvertent, but she’s never been anything but painfully aware of her personal space. 

“What are you working on?” is the route of conversation she goes with and it’s one he’s happy to oblige her. Something has shifted between them, brought the tension that passes back and forth between them to the fore and work is a comforting normal.

He rolls his chair forward a few inches and cages her against his desk and prays she doesn't break his face. She doesn't, though, muscles locking for a moment before she relaxes them with an exhale and he takes it as permission. He leans around her, props an elbow next to her hip to grab a sheath of papers he printed off earlier, smudged with scribblings and crosses and annotations in red pen, and pulls them towards her, leaves them in front of her so she can leaf through them as he talks, chin resting against the heel of his hand so he can look up at her as the late afternoon sunlight falls against her.

“It’s a report published in the APA earlier this week by a guy I met in college. He was a complete jerk and I’m hoping there are a few holes I can rip in his research.”

Happy shoots him a disapproving look.

“Charming,” she says, her tone dry and flat.

“Hey, now! This guy was a bully, okay, he used to harass me and a couple other kids. You know this one time he got little Danny Brooks wasted, tied him to the railings and ran away with his clothes and that’s not even the worst of it...”

Toby rambles through a quick repertoire of pointless college anecdotes, barely paying attention to what he’s saying. He’s distracted again, by his hand this time, which is wrapped behind her legs and drumming gently against the side of her knee and he doesn't even remember putting his hand there but he can’t pull away from her either. She’s all soft skin left tacky with heat, and trying to pretend she hasn't noticed his touch, nodding along to his story and thumbing through the paper, the very picture of studied attention, but she has, is the thing. 

Because she’s pressing into his hand and when he nudges his chair an inch forward, leans more heavily against her side, she sways back into him too.

**Author's Note:**

> british writer with british spelling and a potentially british vernacular. there were concerns that the ending was too abrupt so feel free to share any thoughts you have on that.
> 
> the usual huge thank you to [paige](http://www.jonsnw.tumblr.com) and [jenny](http://www.hero7632.tumblr.com) for being as lovely and as patient as usual and also to the quintis group darlings, [madeline](http://preludes-and-reflections.tumblr.com), [katie](http://www.happyquinn27.tumblr.com) and [kayla!](http://www.awkwardbento.tumblr.com)


End file.
